... Too Much Brooding, Not Enough Doing.

They Waited. The Door Did Not Open. The Rain Did Not Stop. The Darkness Made A Tent And Covered Them Completely.

He Said That In A Way Being Loved Is Like Being Told You Never Have To Die.

People Can Only Be Found In What They Do.

Literature Was Intended To Be Dangerous. Art Was Meant To Be Dangerous. Ideas Were Nothing If They Were Not Dangerous.

I Still Maintain That An Ordinary Human Being Has The Right To Be Horrified By A Mangled Body Seen On An Afternoon Walk.